Elf Tales and Drabbles
by Doodlebug QT
Summary: A collection of small stories, drabbles, and prompts for my other story Fairytales and Lullabies. Just some ideas that don't pertain entirely to the story at hand but are still interesting in their own way.
1. Small Moments

**This is a small collection of prompts for my other story Fairytales and Lullabies. They're not entirely crucial to the overall plot of the other story, just a collection of random moments and prompts that I'll add to as I proceed with the main story.**

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 **Elf Tales and Drabbles**

 **Small Moments  
#1 – Blink** **  
**Rick sees his six-year old daughter walking down the street with an arm full of heavy picture books borrowed from the town library. He playfully nudges her from behind upon greeting her.

"Hey, L'lil Darlin'. Mighty light-reading you've got there. Would you like me to take some of those for you?"

She only shakes her head and reinforces her hold over them. "No Dad. You can't help me all the time. I need to learn to do things on my own."

Her words stun him so long that they make it to their house before he can manage to say another word.

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 **#2 – Mommy**  
She's never said it before, but she sometimes wishes she didn't see her mother so often at night. Then maybe it would be a little easier to call the woman she grew up with by the word she craves to use every day. After all, Michonne's earned it. She's the one who's been there. The one who kisses her skinned knees and elbows, the one that makes her breakfast, the one that taught her how to handle a knife, the one that gives her advice when she needs it. She's the one that's been there.

And yet, whenever it feels like she's about to work up the nerve to call her by it, she's sees the face of her birth mother all over again and the word transforms in her throat into the woman's name instead. She sometimes thinks about asking her mother permission to use it for the woman, but she never does.

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 **#3 – Junk**  
The word isn't used very often anymore. Since the dead started rising up, new life is given to everything. If it can't serve its original purpose, maybe it'll serve a new purpose instead. Things that might have seemed like inconsequential items are soon transformed into tools, machines, supplies, and sometimes decorations even. Pallets are bedframes, benches, and tool sheds, tires are shoes, chairs, and playground equipment. Even old burned out lightbulbs can be repurposed. With a touch of imagination anything and everything can be transformed into serving a brand new purpose. In this world, there is no such thing as junk.

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 **#4 – Chocolate**  
The taste is odd and stale after years in the package. Judith doesn't know a time when it had tasted fresh. She shrugs the strange aftertaste away though and accepts another piece from her older brother.

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 **#5 – Storm**  
The rain pounds against the window. The building shakes when thunder erupts like bombs in the sky above them. She sits in her father's lap as they watch the water fall from the sky out the window. She doesn't shrink with fear, though, but listens and watches in hypnotic amazement. The boom doesn't scare Judith the way it does other kids. It always felt comforting to know that even nature sometimes needed to scream.

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 **#7 - Nightmare**  
Everyone in town gets them. Late at night, Judith hears the thump, thump, thump of Carl as he takes those thoughts and mounts them on his bullseye. He spends the rest of the night tossing darts at them, hoping maybe he can kill them again where they'll stay dead this time.

Michonne rises and practices out in the yard under a black sky, with no one but the stars and moon for company while she pantomimes her old battles, hacking away at the unseen threats and hoping the exercise with exhaust her enough to get back to a dreamless sleep.

Sometimes her father paces the kitchen late at night, thinking deep and pouring over plans and projects, believing the needs of the community will distract him from the countless demons he seeks to escape.

And Judith… well, Judith keeps making the charms, recharging them under the moon when it looks like they've begun to lose their potency. As more time goes by she learns ways to make them last a bit longer. She can't make the nightmares go away for good, but she can improve her craft at least.

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 **#8 – Wolf**  
One is good, and one is evil and they are in constant battle with one another. The one who wins depends on which is fed.

As Judith looks at the two men, their leader beside their enemy, the old parable comes to mind. A horrible shiver courses through her just then, for it seems that the one that is evil is destined to always win, as he is the one they all continue to feed.

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 **#9 – Butterflies  
** "Every truly good person becomes one when they die." She told him one day as they admired several on the porch banister. "They lit up the world while they were here, so they come back to us in this form. But every truly bad person becomes a tick, since they did nothing but live off of others. But we don't see as many ticks as we do butterflies so deep down, there were a lot more good people than bad."

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 **#10 – Angels**  
The class is let out early when they hear the hum off in the distance. Like a stampede, every person in town rushes out of whatever building they're in and their eyes turned to the sky, marveling at the relic of a forgotten civilized past and dreaming of the day when they'll land to speak with them.

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 **#11 – Fairytales**  
The voices come out of the radio but their faces are never seen. In her mind, Judith pictures a flock of birds and the majestic swan queen, speaking for them and reminding hundreds of unseen listeners of what life was like long, long ago, tales of an age Judith will never know and one others sometimes wish they could forget. Because remembering makes them want, and wanting something that cannot be is sometimes worse than never knowing at all.

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 **#12 – Heritage**  
"What was mom like when she was alive?"

"She was a great mom. She was sweet and kind and she had a really great singing voice, and she liked poetry."

"Poetry?"

"Yeah, she used to recite poetry when I was little. She let me sit on her lap and she'd read me poetry that she wrote sometimes. They were a little like your spells in a way."

"What else do you remember?"

"Well, she used to hang up decorative glass balls around the house everywhere, sort of like stained glass and mostly in the windows. She said it kept out bad luck. She also hated salt, not sure why but she just did. She kept a journal and notes sometimes, but she never let anyone read them. We lost them, though. She'd also spray this homemade mint stuff around the house to keep out spiders and mice and other pests. There's not a whole lot I remember about her now, though. Sorry."

"It's okay. I just wish I could have known a bit more about her."

"I though you said she visited you at night and stuff. Like a ghost or something?"

"Yeah, when I was little—er. But not as often anymore, and there are questions I want to ask her but..."

"…Yeah… me too."

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 **#13 – Ancestors**  
"What's the difference?" She asks her dad.

"Well, Vikings are more from Norway and Iceland. And they sailed all around the world in search of other lands to conquer, sort of like pirates. Celts were content to just stay in their homeland most of the time. And they came from Europe, mostly England and Ireland. But they all had their own warriors and such."

"Did they have witches?"

"Yeah, pretty sure they did."

The confirmation made her smile.

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 **#14 – Pet**  
Judith tries to shoo the puppy off her side, but he yips and bounds, eager for attention from his owner. She can't show him any affection right now, though, since her owner at the moment stands behind her watching the scene and searching for weaknesses to exploit when needed.

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 **#15 – Magic**  
"I never really believed in it." Her father tells her one day. "It just wasn't for me. But it's alright if you do. If it makes you feel stronger or better about things, you believe in it. In this world, you need all the help you can get, and if it helps, do it."


	2. Girl vs Goat

**Goat vs. Girl**

It started out as such a good day. I strolled the streets of town, enjoying the glorious sunshine since the past few days had been subjected to heavy rain and it was the first we'd gotten any sun in about five days. Everyone scrambled to take advantage of it before another storm could blow in.

It happened so fast, as it normally did, when this particular monster was concerned. I was promptly taken off my feet when something struck me from behind and slammed face-first in the mud with an audible SPLAT through the yard. When I lifted my head, my whole front was painted brown and green from mud and loose grass.

I looked back and was unsurprised to find the culprit of my humiliation standing only feet away, a challenging glint in his slanted pupils.

"You big, fluffy piece of poo!" I shouted at Ram Dover, struggling back to my feet. I shoved at his horns, pushing the animal back. He only shoved at me more insistently and I braced my feet, trying but failing to keep him at bay. My boots had gotten stuck during it and my feet slipped out of them, sliding around the mud barefooted. Even so, I refused to let it divert me from gaining dominance over this livestock once and for all.

I was not going to let a sheep, of all things in the world, push me around.

His head bowed forward, trying to force me back and I returned the favor, shoving right back against him.

"Oh no you don't! Not this time!"

We struggled endlessly; an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, each as stubborn as the other while we fought.

I could hear each panting breath he took from his nostrils, loud and determined as he tried and tried to force me back. At last, his head bucked and he kicked on his back feet, the force strong enough to throw me hard enough that I became momentarily airborne. A surprised shout forced from me as I flew up and landed hard in the mud once again. Now my back was covered completely in much in addition to my front. I panted hard with the struggle and glanced up to watch as the demon sheep kicked the dirt up with his front hoof, preparing to charge like a bull.

Through sheer instinct alone, I scrambled to my feet, slipping in the mud as I rushed to avoid the animal's next attack. He overtook me though, and rammed into my behind while I tried to retreat. The force sent me once again in the mud, and whatever had been left uncovered by filth was remedied with that last tackle. It took the skin of my teeth to manage pulling my body into a small tree in order to avoid a fourth attack from this beast, but even if the thing couldn't climb trees he staked out below it until Gabriel's dog, Angel, had come around and attempted to herd him away.

The ram only bayed once before calmly complying with the hound's order and waddled away to rejoin his flock.

I fumed furiously as I watched him strutting away, smug as a British Blueblood.

"You ass!" I hollered back at him. He didn't let it faze him as he sauntered on his way, the white dog on his back to guide him. Apparently, he had divided away from the rest of the sheep for the specific purpose of seeking me out to shove my nose in the mud.

Slowly, I inched down from the tree, furiously making my way back home. On the way, Dad caught sight of me in the street and trailed off of the conversation he was having with Mike as he gaped at me, mouth opened in complete shock over my state.

It was a few long seconds before he could find his voice once more, but when he did, he pointed and shouted at me in utter appall.

"DON'T YOU DARE GO INTO THE HOUSE LIKE THAT, YOUNG LADY!"

"I'm on it," Carl said behind him, brandishing a water hose. Before I could defend myself, my brother's thumb was over the spout pouring from the nozzle and I was sprayed with a jet of icy water.

I shrieked in surprise and held my hands out, attempting to protect my face. My anger pulsed hot with the treatment and I sprung at him, trying to grab the hose and return the favor. Carl only dodged away, keeping the jet pointed continuously at me. I managed to grab at it though and tugged it right out of his hands, turning the jet against him. He retreated back towards Dad and I advanced, chasing my older sibling around the man as he shouted again and tried to escape from our tousle.

"DON'T FIGHT AROUND ME!"

Through it all, I accidentally nailed him with a heavy jet of cold water just when Carl ducked from my aim.

Dad did not look happy about it.

"Oh. You. Are. In. So. Much. Trouble!" With those deadly words, I turned to flee, still with the hose in hand. It was my only weapon after all, but proved not all too affective when I attempted to turn it on him as I backed up.

"Don't you dare spray—" But I had already drenched him again, fleeing as I attempted to blind him with a spout of water in my charge to safety.

His legs were significantly longer than mine though, and he managed to overtake me in three seconds flat. I felt his arms lifting me up and attempted to spray him again hoping he would release me with it. The growls of wrath he had before, suddenly turned into laughter and with the amount of squirming I did in his arms, it eventually made him lose his balance and he slipped on the slick grass. We both tumbled over on the ground, laughing hysterically.

While we were struggling with the hose, Michonne, Mike and Carl had gathered around to laugh and egg us on.

We both lied on the ground panting and giggling, staring up at the sky until my dad's laughter began to transform into much different sounds. My head turned and I saw tears in his eyes. They were at first tears of laughter but rapidly transformed to tears of something much different than that. He covered his face with his hand and choked, cried, and laughed all at the same time. In time, they simmered out and he sighed.

When his hand came down he glanced at me and our eyes met.

All laughter died and we shared a look. There was an unspoken statement between the two of us in that stare. A sort of understanding. The bout hadn't been intentional, but it had alleviated a bit of the tension that had building in the both of us for perhaps years. In just a few minutes we had gone through emotions of annoyance, anger, wrath, joy, mirth, sorrow, and finally surrender.

It all happened so quickly, but in that small moment there were things spoken that neither of us could put into words. We laid there for a long moment, even while the others stood by, looking on us curiously.

Eventually, I rolled to my feet, drenched and still covered in mud and grass, despite being brusquely hosed down.

Dad got to his feet too, shivering under all the water. I stood between Carl and Michonne, sharing small sniggers as our eyes followed his back to watch him cross his arms against the chill of the water then slowly walk back into the house to change and continue the day same as always.

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 **Author's Notes: Scene inspired by The Secret Life of the Bees. I just love the scene where Lily and June were boding with an unintentional water fight and have that moment in the grass where they just sort of lie there.**


End file.
